The Fancy Pants Casino
by FlamingRavenclaw
Summary: The final part of my 2015 Halloween crack fic challenge, based on PeteZahHutt's famous casino in How to Minecraft. Warning: If you are squeamish or if you have any triggers, please don't read this story. It was written to be disturbing so, naturally, it is disturbing. MCYT with hints of Merome, Poofless, Vikklan.
1. Chapter 1

**Jerome:**

"Come on, Petey! Don't you wanna play a game?" This guy, man. He brags about how he upgraded his casino and added all kinds of new games for us to blow our money on, but he won't open it up for us to use. Who the fuck does that? I spent all day yesterday tunneling through dirt and cobblestone and shit to find a stack of diamonds to waste, and now he's telling us 'not today.' I'm four, five seconds from calling up Nooch and telling him to build his redstone card-shuffling-thing so I can get my fix of being an idiot for the day. "Don't make me hafta come over there and axe you another question."

"I mean… If you really want to lose everything…"

"Of course I want you to lose everything! Now pull up those fancy pants and let's get this show on the road! I'm gonna go wake up these lazy buffoons, so I'll see ya around your place in fifteen."

"Sounds good."

I'm gonna clean house tonight, man. That green, slimy money grubber won't even know what hit him.

* * *

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first game at the Fancy Pants Casino's first annual Halloween carnival! We're going to start things off with a new game that I like to call Death Dice! So who is g-" He has to be kidding. This little 'carnival' of his was my idea, so I'm gonna go first.

"ME!" I sprint forward before Pressy can even open his big, gooey, lava-y mouth and jump up on the platform in the middle of the new room. Mitch sighs behind me somewhere but he can fuck off. This is _my_ game and I'm gonna double my money or go home bawling.

"It looks like we have our first volunteer! Can we get a round of applause for Jerome?" Lachlan claps half-heartedly and everyone else just keeps staring at the big iron stage under my feet. "Let's get this party started! So here's how this game works: this dispenser has six slips of paper in it, and each outcome has a one-in-six chance of being chosen."

"What do they say?" Vikk asks suspiciously, but Brandon just grins and shrugs it off as he steps behind his plexiglass protection booth and triple-locks the iron door behind him. What does he think we're gonna do? Rob him? Well, I mean he can have Rob… Never mind.

"Just a couple of dares, nothing too serious. You'll see soon enough. You can bet as much or as little as you want, and for every turn you stay on the platform, your money doubles. Sound fair?"

"Sounds like it's the best deal you're gonna give me. Let's do this." I dig eight diamonds out of the inside pocket of my suit jacket and hand them over to him. He counts them and scribbles something on a sheet of paper before giving the thumbs up and pointing to the black X in the middle of the platform. What'd I get myself into this time?

"Ready?"

"Ready as I'm gonna be." He pulls a lever and an iron wall shoots up behind me with metal manacles built into the wall to hold my arms and legs in place. "Do I…?"

"Yes. You don't want to fly off, do you?"

"Now _this_ is my kind of game!" As soon as I move into place, the metal shackles snap shut, preventing me from leaving the platform. What's the worst that could happen, right? It's just a game.

"First roll, for sixteen diamonds… We got a leg, boys!"

"We got a what?"

"Oh, no. Oh, no. Nope. I'm out, boys," Lachlan squeaks as Brandon pulls a second lever and a giant silver saw blade descends from the ceiling and lands on the floor in front of my right leg.

"Wait, what? Whaddaya doing? This isn't… This isn't how you run a casino, Petey. Can't we talk about this? Please?"

"You placed the bet, and now the casino has to take its dues. I think it's time for _us_ to axe _you_ a question, Jerome."

No. No, this can't be happening. The blade starts spinning and it goes faster and faster until I can't see the teeth on the edges anymore. Then it starts coming towards me. Oh, no. No! I-I hafta get outta here. Petey lost his mind. Holy shit, it's almost here. I don't wanna lose my leg! I need my leg! It's mine! I need it to walk! I-I didn't sign up for this, man! I thought we were just playing for diamonds, that's all! Everyone's just standing there and watching with their mouths open as the blade gets closer and closer every second. Lachlan turns around first, and then Preston does, too. They can't watch. Oh, God. I can't watch, either. I close my eyes, but it isn't enough.

At first it feels like a giant paper cut, long and deep with that sting you just can't ignore. It hits me right below the knee and it starts spluttering and squishing and squelching and mushing until it hits the bone. That sounds like a giant dentist's drill and it makes my whole body vibrate. I hafta be screaming at this point but I can't hear it. I can't hear anything but the blade. Nothing else exists but the sound. I can't even feel it anymore.

When the saw stops, all I notice is that my clothes are all wet, and so's everything else. Poor Vikk got a front row seat and he's soaked in shiny, slimy red blood and pieces of meat. There's a horrible silence in the casino. All I can hear is my own labored breathing and Lachlan's pathetic panting over in the corner. I see him tug on the door to the outside but it doesn't budge. This nutcase locked us in here, didn't he? Crazy motherfucker.

"Ready for the second roll?" he asks and I start shaking my head furiously.

"Uh! Nuh-uh! I'm outta here. I lost. Oh, well. I gotta go. Let me outta here." Brandon shakes his head and wraps his fingers around the lever for the dispenser again, the lever that'll take another one of my limbs off if I don't win.

"Sorry, Jerome, but that's not how this game works. You know the rules: you double your money for every turn you stay on the platform. There's only one slip in here that says you can leave. Maybe if you get lucky, you'll draw it."

"N-no, please. You've gotta let me go! You can keep the money! I don't care anymore! Let me out, damn you!"

"And here we go! Second roll, for thirty-two diamonds!" He pulls the lever and another slip of paper pops out. Judging by how the saw's moving up and over, I don't think I won. "Ouch. Another bad roll for Jerome. This time we have to take an arm."

"You can't do this to me, man. Let me out! Let me out! Let me the fuck out, Brandon!" Somewhere along the line, Mitch started trying to break into the banker's booth to turn this torture device off. Nothing he does seems to be working. The saw starts spinning again, around and around, faster and faster, and it inches towards me, only about a foot and a half from my head. There's nothing I can do. I'm stuck here. Nothing can help me now. Closer and closer, and closer and closer… There's a stab of pain and a warm splash, and I'm out like a light. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much.

I don't know how long I was knocked out.

It mighta been thirty seconds.

Coulda been three minutes.

Hell, it coulda been thirty minutes. He's crazy enough to make everyone sit there and wait for me to wake back up so he could torture me some more. Mitch looks helpless. Vikk looks horrified. Rob looks like he's in shock. And the other two are leaned up against the back wall trying not to puke. Who can blame 'em? If I could still feel my body, I'd probably be puking, too.

"You aren't really a winner, but I like your spirit. Let's go for spin three for sixty-four diamonds!"

"No. No! Stop it!" I guess that scream came from me. It doesn't sound like me. And I don't remember telling myself to say that. I don't know anything anymore.

"Spin three for a full stack of diamonds, and we got… Well, it looks like the house won this round. Good game, Jerome."

"Wait, what? Wha-whaddaya mean 'the house won'? What the fuck does that mean? Pete! Petey!" The saw starts in again, but it's centered now instead of aimed at my missing arm. It's coming closer and closer, and he's the only one who can stop it. It's gonna… It's going for my head. He's actually gonna kill me. Brandon's gonna kill me. I don't know what's so funny about that, but something's funny. I'm laughing. That's what you do when something's funny, right? Right?! It's so close I can't see anything else now, and no matter what I do, I can't close my eyes.

"Well, guys. That was a good game, GGs all around, but you know what they say: the Casino always wins."


	2. Chapter 2

**Lachlan:**

"Who's up next, boys?" Everyone stays silent. Vikk looks like he's either wiping tears or blood out of his eyes. He must've been standing too close – he's drenched in sticky, chunky red goo. The iron stage moves back into the floor just in time to show the back wall opening to reveal another, smaller room. I don't like the look of this. "Can't decide, huh? Well, there's an app for that. Let's see… We've got Mitch, Preston, Rob, Vikk, and Lachlan… Now let's roll a random number so it's fair, and we've got… Little Lachy. Step on up."

"N-naw, mate. I think I'm gonna pass on this. I'm not really much of a gambler. Yeah, I'm not much of a gambler, really. I think someone else should go next. What do you think, boys? Who wants to go next?" Once I start rambling I can't stop. I can't help it. But Brandon doesn't look amused.

"Everyone has to take their turn here in the Fancy Pants Casino, Lachlan, and now it's your turn. If you don't play by the rules, I don't have to play by the rules, either. And trust me, none of you guys want that. Besides, I think this one might have the best odds out of all of them: it's a fair fifty-fifty." Naw. Just naw. It could be ninety-nine to one and I still wouldn't take the chance, not after watching what happened to Jerome. I can't do it. Nope. I _won't_ do it. I catch myself shaking my head like a little kid. Brandon looks pissed. "Either you guys can follow the rules and have a chance of walking out of here with a pocket full of shiny things, or you can all just forfeit now and bend over and kiss your butts goodbye. What'll it be, boys?"

"Lachlan, you have to do this. This is our only chance. Just place a bet and go in there, and there's a fifty percent chance he'll let you walk out the other side. You could go and get help. You could save us, Lachlan. You're our only hope." Vikk… Damn it, Vikk. Why do you always have to be the inspirational one who plants all these bad ideas in my head? Why do you have to be the smart one? Why do you always have to get to me like this?

"F-fine. I'll do it. I bet it all: fifty-six diamonds. I won't be needing it if I lose, anyway."

"Now that's the spirit! Step right up and head into the next room! Fifty-six diamonds on the double!" I take my sweet time walking to the little iron room next to the booth. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, like I'm on my way to my last supper or something. My footsteps echo in the small space, and as soon as I'm inside, a thick glass wall slides shut behind me. I can see out and they can see in. He wants them to watch. He wants me to see them scream before I die. What happened to Brandon? What did this maniac do to him? "Ready?"

"Just pull the damn thing already!"

"As you wish, good sir. And a one, a t-wo, a three!" He flicks the lever and I can see my life flash before my eyes. I can feel the flames licking at my ankles before I can see them. I can smell the stench of scorched cloth, singed hair, and burned meat. I'm a goner. "Oh, ouch! Luck was not on your side today, my friend! I would say better luck next time, but… You know how it goes."

"Lachlan! Lachlan!" Vikk runs over and starts pounding on the other side of the glass like he thinks he can help me. I don't even know what to say. He's covered from head to toe in dark red blood and he's starting to waver back and forth in front of my eyes. The heat is rising, and so are the flames. Preston can't even turn around and look at me – he's holding himself up against the far wall, shaking his head with his face in his hands. Mitch looks pissed, and he's pacing back and forth like he thinks he can do something. There's nothing any of us can do. And Rob… Rob's just staring straight ahead at me, looking at me but not really seeing anything. He looks how I feel. I can't feel any pain, just the sweltering heat. It's so hot… I wish I would just die already. It's just so hot… I can barely breathe. It's so heavy in my lungs, I can't even tell if I'm breathing anymore. The room gets darker and darker until… there's no room anymore.

There's just nothing.

Nothing at all.

"You know what they say: the Casino always wins."


	3. Chapter 3

**Rob:**

"I think I know which game we'll do next. You guys will appreciate this one. But first, let's see who our lucky player is going to be." Brandon's voice seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, but I don't know where I am anymore. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet; all I know is the metallic smell of Jerome's dried blood and the image of Lachlan's cool, blue eyes staring back at me from a wreath of writhing flames. I don't feel like I am in my body anymore. I feel like I am drifting around outside of it somewhere, like my soul is up toward the ceiling, looking down on everything. I feel weightless, fragile, weak. I feel dead already.

"You're fucking sick, dood," Mitch mutters under his breath, barely audible over the sound of Vikk's hysterical sobs. He feels responsible for what happened to Lachlan. He told him to go. He sent him to his doom. What could he have done, though? It was Lachlan's best chance – it was _everyone's_ best chance. Given that our best chance is dead and gone, what are our chances now?

"Hey, don't be calling the kettle black, Mitch. Jerome was the one who said he wanted to play some new casino games. If you didn't like how I run my business, then why didn't you start your own? Why do you always keep coming back?" Silence, except for Vikk's sniffling in front of the smaller room and Preston's heavy breathing behind me. "Exactly. Now let's pick a tribute for this round! And we have… MrWoofless! Step right up to the booth and take a seat!"

"Wait, no. No, you can't do this!" I almost don't recognize the voice behind me at first, it sounds so cracked and strained.

"It isn't up to me, Preston. If you have a problem, take it up with Lady Luck," Brandon replies as he points me toward the empty clear chamber that had been revealed along the wall next to the room filled with Lachlan's ashes. My feet start moving toward the room on their own, and the rest of my body feels so heavy that all I can think of is how nice it will be to sit down on the little metal bench inside.

"Rob! No! You can't do this! You can't!"

"The Poofless is strong with this one," the game operator jokes as he opens the door for me to enter. "You two might get a bonus multiplier if you keep it up. And I thought Vikklan was the strongest ship." Preston starts to run after me to stop me, but Mitch lunges forward and holds him back, taking quite a beating in the process.

"You can't let him keep doing this! Rob, you don't hafta-"

"It's my turn, man. If I don't do it, he is going to take it out on all of us. We all still have a chance to make it out of here, guys."

"Don't be stupid! You always lose everything when you gamble! Remember the golden knife?" He has a point, but I can't let him give up yet. He already looks like he is about to lose it like Vikk, and Vikk is beyond comprehension right now.

"On that note, do you want to make a bet, Rob?" I turn and look at him as soon as I step into the small glass room, and I do my best to smile.

"No, I think I'll pass this time. You can keep your diamonds, and I hope they burn in hell with you."

"Suit yourself. Now here's the game: we have a slip of paper here that has a number written on it from one to thirteen, just like in a deck of cards. This dispenser over here is filled with the other fifty-one cards. We draw cards until you get one that is the same value as this card right here, but there's a catch. Every time you pull a card that doesn't match this card, that tank will fill with the number of gallons of water that are on the card you drew. Any questions?" He seems so calm and collected about this, like we are just playing with a real deck of cards for a few poker chips instead of for people's lives.

"Yeah. What the hell is wrong with you?!" Preston shrieks as he tries to force the door to the banker's booth open with his shoulder. It won't budge, but he refuses to give up. No matter what happens, he will be as stubborn as always. I admire him for that.

"Temper, temper, Preston. It's almost your turn, then you can play. Until then, just try to behave yourself and enjoy the show." Brandon pulls the first lever and grabs the slip of paper, turning it so that we can see: a three. All I need to do is draw a three and I can get all four of us out of here. It doesn't have to end like it did for the other two; I still have a chance to win. "And your second card is… a lucky seven. At least it was just the first turn." He pulls the other lever and my heart stops in my chest.

I have always been terrified of drowning – it's one of my greatest fears. What are the chances that I would get stuck with this challenge, that I would have to suffer through my worst nightmare before I died? Freezing cold water flows in through the back of the tank, filling it up past my ankles to the bottom part of my calves. My veins fill with ice and I step up onto the metal bench I had been sitting on to escape from the numbing cold. My shoes already feel so heavy… Even if I win this round, I don't know if I can swim long enough to make it until he opens the door. My clothes are going to weigh me down. I kick off my shoes and strip my hoodie off and throw them into the clear water below, trying to maximize my chances of making it out of here.

"What is the next card?" I ask, trying to control the shivering and stammering in my voice; I can't let the others see how nervous I am or they will all break down.

"We're doing a speed round? Works for me. Next card! And you got… a ten. Ten out of ten, mate." The Lachlan joke falls flat and the motor behind the tank groans as it fills with ten more gallons of ice water. It flows up past my knees when I am standing on top of the bench, so it probably would have been chest-high if I had been standing on the ground. This already isn't looking good for me. I still only have a four in forty-nine chance of drawing a winning card, and my luck has never been great.

"Next card."

"Next card! And the third card is… a jack! So that's eleven more gallons for you, Robert. Your odds seem a little jacked up." The pump whirls on the backside of the tank and another stream of deathly cold water jets out through the bottom of the tank, sending my discarded clothes swirling in the whirlpool. The tank is filled up to my stomach now, and I can feel the powerful, crushing liquid pushing up on me, battling gravity to propel me up toward the clear glass ceiling. It's so heavy already, pushing in on me, trying to squeeze me out of existence.

"N-next card."

"Tsk-tsk. The impatience! Your fourth card is… we got us an ace! That was a lucky turn – you only got one gallon this round." I pretend not to have heard him, unwilling to play into his sick delusion by showing my relief. Every gallon counts, and every gallon is one gallon too much.

"Next."

"And your fifth card is… Well, look at that! We got a king for the Flower King himself! That's a full thirteen gallons for you, Robert."

"No! Stop it!" I can barely hear Preston's livid screams or his pounding on Brandon's iron door as the pump revs up and spews more ice water into my personal torture chamber. The water keeps rising, higher and higher, until it lifts me up onto my toes and brings my face up to the tiny air space left at the top of the tank. It is well over my shoulders now, and if it hadn't been for the buoyancy, it would have been over my head, too. I struggle to stay afloat and keep the sea water out of my nose and mouth, my eyes stinging from the high salt level.

"Looks like you're having a little bit of trouble there. If you would've slow-rolled it, you could've lived longer."

"Ne-xt c-card," I splutter over the top of the water as every body movement sends it flowing in a miniature tsunami over the top of my head. If I roll anything but a three or an ace, I'm done for.

"And he wants the next card! Can I get a drumroll, please?" When nobody obliges, he shrugs and starts rapping on the table with his knuckles, grinning from ear to ear as he pulls the lever again. I don't need to see the slip of paper to know that I lost. "I wish I could say you got a three, but this isn't a three." He turns the paper so we can see it: a four. Out of anything I could have drawn, I got a fucking four.

"Crap. Crap, crap, crap," Preston mumbles as he runs forward and starts examining the glass cage to find a way to let me out, but I already know that it's hopeless. I grab one last gulp of air as the motor pumps the last few gallons into the tank, the despair and panic already setting in. It's inevitable now, but I can't control myself.

"Well, fish, fish, fish, boys. It looks like Lady Luck isn't on your side today. GG, Woof," Brandon says dismissively as he claps half-heartedly, disappointed that his game ended so early. Preston is slamming his shoulder into the front of the glass, over and over again, hoping to make a dent in the unyielding barrier. He looks like he can't hold it together any longer.

"I… I can't. I can't! It isn't working. What am I supposed to do? Rob, tell me what I'm supposed to do." He puts his hand where I'm bracing myself against the glass and leans his forehead against the side of the tank, closing his eyes so he won't have to watch me struggle to hold my last breath. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry this happened to you."

I want to say something to them; I want to comfort them, tell them that it's okay, that it isn't their fault. I can barely string the words together in my head, let alone find a way to push them out of my mouth and into the water. My last wish is for them to not watch me die. Please… Please, don't look at me. Please, don't remember me like this. Please, I… I can't…

"It's a good day for the House, boys. The Casino always wins."

Preston…

I…


	4. Chapter 4

**Preston:**

I can't believe it. That didn't just happen. It couldn't've just happened. There's no way this is real, right? This… This has to be some kind of sick, twisted joke. It's a lie. The whole thing's a lie. The blood was fake, and Lachlan was acting, and Rob's just pretending to float there like a jellyfish. There's a camera somewhere. There has to be. They're waiting for me to react so they can show everyone and make me into a walking joke.

Now this just pisses me off.

I'm not gonna let 'em get me this time.

"It's not funny anymore, Rob. Come on, dude. You're like the worst actor ever. Where's the door so you can cut the crap and tell me why you're doing this. Rob! Stop screwin' around!"

"Preston, do you-" Vikk starts but Mitch just starts laughing. He's like the Joker, just laughing and laughing and laughing, like it's just the best frickin' practical joke he's ever done. I knew it! I knew they were trying to mess with me!

"You guys thought this was funny, huh? It isn't freakin' funny! Making me think you're all dyin'! Snap out of it, Rob! Get out here so I can beat the frick outta you and get it over with!"

"Preston, he isn't acting. He's really… They're all dead. They… We lost them. They're gone." Vikk usually isn't a good actor, but he's really putting on a show this time. I'd almost believe him if he'd stop trying to make it look like he's crying. Give it up already!

"Now ain't that a lie! Like we'd really come in here and-"

"Don't you get it? Jerome was right, dood. You _are_ fucking stupid!" Mitch laughs as he wipes the hysterical tears out of his eyes. What the hell is he trying to pretend to be? This just proves they're screwing with me. "They're dead, Preston. All three of them are dead, and they aren't coming back. There's nothing you can do about it but play the game and follow along after them."

"So you're tellin' me-"

"I hate to break up this touching moment, but we have a schedule to keep. Let's see who our next contestant is!" I turn around and look in the tank, expecting to catch Rob making faces at me behind my back like he always does. Well, he's making a face but… It's not a face anyone should ever hafta see. There's no expression there. His face looks like a blank sheet of paper, his eyes empty and staring down at the floor right outside the tank, right past me. To him, I'm not even here. Does that mean… he's really dead? Did Pete really kill these guys? He couldn't…

"Oh, fuck you!" Mitch yells as he walks over and kicks the door to the outside as hard as he can. Even though he hits it hard enough to make himself stumble and almost fall over, he doesn't even make a tiny dent.

"Not during normal business hours, Mitchell. Now I'll confess, this turned out even better than I'd dreamed it would. From this point on, the game we play depends on the name we roll. So to be fair, we'll-"

"No. I wanna go next." My hand flies up and rubs the back of my neck, one of my nervous habits. I can't believe I just volunteered to die. I just can't… I can't sit here and watch anyone else die. I can't deal with it. If hafta take my chances before I lose my nerve again. "Let's get this over with."

"Ladies and gentlemen! We have our second volunteer tribute! Step right up, good sir, but watch your step. This one can get pretty messy." We watch as small iron blocks move out from the wall in a spiral staircase pattern so it looks almost like a parkour map. Wait, it _is_ a parkour map! I might be able to do this!

"Read 'em and weep, suckers! I'mma win this one!" I've gotta win it for Rob. I mean, I hafta save the other two, but I couldn't save him. I hafta make it out of here for him. I hafta get back at Pete for him.

"Feeling lucky today, huh? That's only half of the game. You see, it wouldn't be gambling if there wasn't a little bit of risk involved."

"Risk?"

"Yes, risk. We have another dispenser over here filled with six slips of paper, and each one has a different obstacle written on it, just like a die. If you can make it to the end of the course without falling, you win. Any questions?"

"Yeah, can we start now?" I need to get going before the adrenaline wears off or I'm gonna be a goner, too. I hafta get started now.

"Suit yourself. May the odds be ever in your favor!" I step up onto the first block, and as soon as both feet are on the block, the middle of the floor of the room slides apart and reveals a pit of needle-sharp spikes. Crap. Oh, crap. I can't afford to screw this up. There's no surviving that. "Every five blocks we have a new roll, so brace yourself for first part of the course! And we got… Sliders!"

The first five or so blocks are easy – they're just regular two and three block jumps, nothing special. But when I get to the end of the iron blocks, a gold block pops out right in front of me before immediately slamming back into the wall. The next five blocks are all slipping and sliding and sneaking back and forth in and out of the wall, all in the same order. It's like they're all moving together. All I hafta do is time it like I have a hundred times before, and when I make it to the other side, I'll be five steps closer to going home. One, two, three… four, five. One, two, three… four, five. One, two, three… four, five. Okay, I got it now. My feet are moving on their own, creatures of habit just following my reflexes. Parkour just becomes a part of you, if you do it enough. One, two, three… four, five. I make it to the regular iron block on the other side of the sliding blocks and I can hear Vikk let out a _whooshing_ breath below. They're worried about me?

"And he got it! Now let's see what round two brings! We have… glass panes! Isn't that your favorite block, Preston?"

"Shut the frick up!" I can't stand this guy anymore. Who does he think he is, going around, killing people? When I get outta here, I'm gonna make him pay. I'm gonna make him pay for Jerome, and for Lachlan, and for Rob… I'm gonna make him pay for making us all suffer. He deserves what's coming to him.

"Manners, manners. Either way, you'll love this round." The next set of iron blocks slides back into the wall and they're replaced with perfectly clear glass panes. They're so clear they're almost invisible. I can barely see where they are. Once I'm reasonably sure I know where the first one is, I take a leap of faith and feel my foot come down on something hard. And very sharp.

"Ungh!" I can't even begin to stifle the cry of pain as the broken glass cuts through the bottom of my shoe and bites into my foot. The other one doesn't hurt when I put it down to steady myself, so it must just be from the pressure of landing on that foot. Dang, that hurts. I brace myself and jump to the next pane, cringing both at the immense pain in the bottom of my right foot and the pitiful whimper that keeps escaping my mouth.

"I guess that's why they call them 'window panes,' huh? That looks a little pane-ful." Pete and his stupid jokes. I'm gonna get him after this. I'm gonna wait until his back's turned, then I'm gonna beat the holy crap out of him. I'm gonna hurt him so much… This is nothing compared to what he's gonna feel. I alternate my feet for the last three panes, and I nearly slip on a puddle of my own blood when I make it to the iron block at the end. I accidentally look down and I spot Jerome's bodiless head over by the door to Pete's control room. It has a giant trail of sprayed blood behind it, staining the expensive carpet all kinds of different shades of red. If I fall, I won't even look that good. "Do you need a minute?"

"Just roll the frickin' dice already. I wanna get this over with."

"As you wish. And we got us… oh! You'll like this one!" I look ahead of me and see the next stretch of iron blocks disappear, only to be replaced with five huge, curved cacti with massive, deadly spikes all over them.

"No. No! How am I even supposed to _do_ that?!"

"You're the Parkour Master. I'm sure you can figure something out." I look over at the first cactus and I have no clue what to do. There's no room on the block to land next to it, and there's no way to jump on top of it and not impale my foot. The spikes are at least three inches long, and there's no way for me to reach it and pull the spikes off before I jump on it. There's no way around these blocks and my only other option is to jump down into the pit of doom. I… I hafta do this. I hafta do this for the guys. I hafta avenge them. Pete is gonna pay so much for this.

As soon as my foot comes down on the first cactus, I can't even remember who I am or what I'm doing here. I never imagined pain could be this bad. I can feel myself crying. I can hear myself screaming. I can't make myself look down. I hafta keep going. I'm almost at the top. Just four more cacti and one more obstacle and I'm done. I can make it outta here and get help. I can do this. I can-

When I move to jump, my foot won't come off of the cactus. Instead of jumping to the next block, the spikes tug my foot back down and I'm stuck. I have just enough momentum to rip the spike out of the cactus, and it stays lodged in my foot. I stumble and fall off of the uneven, curved edge of the cactus. The ceiling falls further and further away from me as I spiral down towards the open floor and my death. If I'm lucky, maybe one of the spikes'll go through my head so I won't hafta feel anything. Any second now…

Luck's not on my side today. I feel it go through my stomach. I feel the hot blood spray all over my face and in my eyes. I can't hear anything and the only thing I can see is the shiny red spike sticking up through what used to be my body. I can see little pieces of ripped up guts and skin on the outside of the spike and I don't even notice that my hand landed on a spike, too, until I try to move it to see if it's really coming out of my body. It doesn't hurt like I thought it would. I just feels like my body turned into Jello and it's pulling at me, like I got super glued to something. This can't be real.

"The House is on fire today! We should do this kind of thing more often!"

Who said that again?

What'd he say?

I don't understand…

Does this mean the Casino always wins?

Is it possible for anyone else to win?


	5. Chapter 5

**Vikk:**

"Now that's what I call a swan dive! GG, man, G-freaking-G." There's a moment of silence as Brandon uses his horrible redstone contraption to decide who is going to die next. I don't think any of us are going to get out of here alive. Lachlan was the one with all of the luck, and Jerome and Preston were the only ones who had the ability to just power through it. Mitch and me… We aren't strong like them. We aren't sure of ourselves like they were. We aren't hopeful idealists like Rob and Lachlan were. We see the truth and we can't run away from it.

Damn it, Lachlan. Why did I tell you to go? Maybe if I would've stepped up and taken your turn, someone might have been able to make it out of here to reveal Brandon as the demented, deluded nutcase he is. After seeing him… After seeing the flesh just _melt_ off of his face… After seeing something like that, how are we supposed to keep going? How are we supposed to have any hope at all? The answer is: there is no hope. There's nothing to hold onto now as we take the same graceful, screaming swan dive that Preston did. He was our last viable player. Mitch looks at least as defeated as I feel, and we both know that, even if we do somehow make it out of here, there's no one waiting for us on the other side. Merome was destroyed. Poofless just doesn't exist anymore. Any chance Vikklan ever had of being a thing… Well, that's gone down the drain. It trickled right down the drain, right along with Jerome's and Preston's blood, and soon our blood, too.

"Vikk?" I jump at the touch and I look over to see Mitch looking at me, his eyes full of helplessness and pain.

"Are you going to play, Vikk, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?" I don't answer; I just step up to the iron table that had appeared in the middle of the room. On top of it are six identical guns with a Roman numeral printed beneath each, and there is an instruction sheet taped down on the right hand side. "I call this 'Texan Roulette.' All but one of these guns is loaded, just like in Texas. You have five minutes to pick a gun and pull the trigger on yourself before both of you join Preston in the ball pit. You can guess if you want to play with odds, but you don't seem like a gambling man to me. Are you ready to start the clock?" I just ignore him and start reading the note, hoping to find some way out of this.

 _One, two, three, you're the star,_

 _But three lines won't get you very far._

 _No one wants to be alone,_

 _But four are already still as stone._

 _If you want to win, don't pick five,_

 _But do you really want to stay alive?_

He planned this down to the second. He planned the order, he planned the games, he planned the deaths. He rigged the whole game, and this proves it. How else would he have known that four people had already died? There was never any chance for us to win against him, was there? He knew it would end this way and, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if all six guns were loaded. What's the point of playing his game if there's next to no chance of Mitch and me walking out of here even if we win? What can I realistically do but pretend to play along until he kills me, anyway?

For now, I would like to keep my options open, so what are my options? I can either choose a gun with a bullet, or I can choose a gun without a bullet. I have to solve his little riddle to figure out which one has the empty chamber, so that's the first step in the plan.

Let's go back to the note. It sounds like it's one of the first three, so for now I'll count four, five, and six out of the game. Three lines… I'm not sure of that yet. I'll come back to that. 'No one wants to be alone' sounds like one is definitely out of the game, so number one is the answer to my first choice. 'Four are already still as stone' might just be there to throw me off and get into my head, but the fourth gun might be loaded. And he explicitly says not to choose the fifth gun, so that one is ruled out, one hundred percent. 'But do you really…' Do I really want to stay alive? I honestly don't know anymore. Without the others, without Lachlan… What is life going to be like without them? What will it be like to know that I'm still here, but I'm only here because they're dead? They had to play the game to keep Brandon from killing all of us at once. I sacrificed Lachlan for a chance to live. I should have died with him, and I'll never forgive myself for that.

"Three minutes left, Vikk." Let's get back to work. The only part I didn't get was the one about lines. I've already ruled out numbers one, four, five, and six. That just leaves two and three. Three lines could obviously mean three, but it could also be referring to the Roman numerals for four and six. That means that number two isn't loaded.

I have my options now, but what is my answer going to be? Do I go with number one, or number two? Do I join my friends, or do I walk out of here today?

Was it ever really a choice at all? You only have free will if you have more than one option to choose from and if you are free to choose between those alternatives. I have no freedom here.

"The answer is two," I say as steadily as I can, and Pete nods in agreement as I grab the correct gun from the table and point it at my temple, watching the amazement on his face through the glass. I pull the trigger and make my choice.

I choose gun number one.

The Casino doesn't always win.


	6. Chapter 6

**Mitch:**

"Well, what do you know? Apparently the Casino _always_ wins, even when the gambler chooses the right number. Today is a good day," Brandon laughs as the echo from Vikk's gunshot fades in the large, tile room. "Now those are amazing odds!"

"What did you do to him?!"

"Hey, don't get mad at me! He got the right answer, fair and square, but he chose the wrong gun. Don't blame me for his choices, Mitch."

"So you're trying to tell me that Vikk pulled the wrong trigger on purpose? Why the hell would _Vikk_ do that, of all people?" Brandon stands up and stretches as he shrugs, flipping switches on his console to power down his machines. He pushes his chair in and brushes the wrinkles out of his shirt, turning the spotlights on in the main room.

"You should have asked him that. I don't pretend to understand my customers, man. You both could have walked out of here just now, scot-free with your hair blowing in the wind. Now, if you don't mind, the Fancy Pants are calling. They need a little makeover – they aren't looking too fancy anymore."

"What are you talking about? What are you going to do to me?!"

"You? You, Mitch?" His friendly smile dissolves into uncontrollable laughter and he has to brace himself against the console to stay standing. "Oh, boy. That's a good one, man."

"What are you laughing about, you fucking sicko?!"

"You sound like you're disappointed, Mitch. Did you want to play? I mean, I could come up with a game real quick if you wanted to give it a go."

"So that's it? You're going to sit there and murder all of my friends, then you're just going to let me go?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Well, it's not like I'm _just_ letting you go. We rolled to see who went when, and you just happened to be the one who didn't get picked. You won the jackpot, Mitch. You should be grateful."

"I didn't win anything! I lost… I lost everything. You took everything from me!" Being the last one, the only one left, is the worst possible thing that could have happened to me. And he knew that. I know he did. He planned for it to go this way. 'Randomly chosen' my ass. He played into our worst fears, every single one of us.

"How do you think I make a living? I run a casino, man. I have to take _something_ sometime, or else there's nothing in it for me. Besides, where do you think the Fancy Pants come from?" What the fuck is he talking about? He's completely out of his mind. I watch as he drains the water in Rob's giant fish tank and he opens the doors to his and Lachlan's rooms, revealing their crumpled bodies on the floor. I'm so busy watching his devices operate that I don't notice the glass walls coming up around me until it's too late. "I just have one last rule we have to follow, then you'll be free to go."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"I won this off of Rob last month. Poor sucker never could gamble." He grabs the back of Vikk's blue t-shirt and lifts his lifeless body up on the gun table, then he pulls a small, golden dagger out of the pocket of his suit jacket and holds it up against the side of Vikk's head so I can see it in full view. "Have I ever told you the story of the Fancy Pants Casino, Mitch? Well, it goes a little something like this." The knife slips easily under the skin and he starts peeling Vikk's face away from his skull, cutting carefully along the side of his jaw and along his hair line.

Gambling with a slime on a full moon was a horrible idea. Nooch was right: we should have gone to his casino.


End file.
